<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>old habits die hard by goandneverlookback</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208793">old habits die hard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/goandneverlookback/pseuds/goandneverlookback'>goandneverlookback</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Eating Disorders, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Pretty vague, Slow Burn, also this takes place in the midwest, cis katya, cis trixie, i know shes not officially in it yet but probably soon, if i make this longer than a one shot its gonna be gay, im projecting come at me, like eventually, old habits die hard, right now its pretty much just hurt, sorry y'all</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:22:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/goandneverlookback/pseuds/goandneverlookback</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Katya is falling back into old habits, and she can't bring herself to care.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This might be a one shot. Might continue it into an actual story with a plot and shit.  Projection galore. Fight me if you don't like it. Comment if you think I should continue. <br/>I'm realizing on other fics there's a lot of notes that "hey! this is a fictionalization of characters! not! real! people!" and uh, please don't make me have to clarify that. Writing about real people would be bizarre. These are characters. Thanks.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She can feel it. In the way she feels halfway through a plate of vegetables. In the way she stares at her profile after a run. In the way she can feel the jittery energy fading and reaches for another cup of coffee, because that can be part of lunch, right? She can feel it in the way sleep evades her. In the way she can justify it. Exercising to exhaust herself so she can sleep. She can feel it in the way her collarbones look different when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room. She can feel it in the way she can’t bring herself to care, because what she had to care about is gone for now. It’s only two weeks, they said. But only two weeks might be all the time it takes. She can feel it in the almost manic way she occupies her afternoons and evenings, barely crawling out of bed except for coffee. She can feel it in the way her muscles ache, tired and sore after being too tense to feel for days. She can feel it in the way she watches them talk to each other, an observer. An outsider. Never knowing what to say anymore. Twelve more days. Eleven more days as the clock ticks past midnight. She tells herself it’s not that bad. She ate dinner. She only ran two and a half miles. She only got completely out of bed close to noon. She doesn’t remind herself that dinner was the only real meal she ate today. She didn’t remind herself that two and a half miles is still the longest route she has set without doubling back on the path. She doesn’t remind herself that she was up for hours, consuming little more than coffee before completely getting out of bed. She can feel it in the way her hip bones dig into the ground in yoga, in the way she can feel her shoulder blades when she hugs herself, in the way her knee bones knock when she brings them up together, the slightest space between parts of her thighs. She can feel it in the way she looks in the mirror and things look different than they used to. She can feel her old habits returning, and she can’t be bothered to stop them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She wonders if she can see it. They don't touch. They never have. But she can see the way Katya’s button down doesn't cling to her hips anymore. She can see the way the shallow circles beneath her eyes have become darker. She can see the way her energy is more manic than vibrant. She can see the way her jacket hangs from her tense shoulders. “ Did you take a lunch yet?”<br/>“Nah, I got here late. You go. I'll go later if there's time.” The words roll off Katya’s tongue easily, casually, the same as they always do. It helps, how she always makes sure others are taken care of before herself. Her excuses aren't as noticeable. They're already ingrained in conversation. She wonders if they notice. She hopes they don't. Not in a workplace like this. Not where at least one coworker is interested in her. Would they be interested if they knew? Or would they have her admitted?  But she's good at faking it. She's excellent at pretending that everything is fine. She's perfected the art of appearing on top of everything, but with just enough flaws for no one to question her. Work helps. Twelve hours of taking care of other people, the shift starting too early to be hungry for breakfast beforehand, being too busy to take a lunch break, being too exhausted after work to want to put any effort into dinner. Not that the exhaustion keeps her from running. As soon as the sun goes down, her soles hit the pavement, working through the events of the day, bringing some sort of calm to her soul. She carries on, just like she always does. And no one notices. People stay at arm's length, and she remains a mystery. A mystery that at times intrigues others. But if they knew, what would they say?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mom, I'll be fine. I'm not coming home.” She can hear the tension, the worry in her mother's voice. She hates that she can't stop herself from being irritated. She wishes she could be more gracious, have the words to say... she wishes she could be different sometimes. More of who they want her to be. More of who they think she is. Her mind races as she paces, only halfway tracking with the phone conversation. She itches to be outside. She'd planned to be outside by now, feet pounding into the pavement, pent up tension from the day bleeding out into the streets. And then suddenly, mercifully, something else is demanding her mother’s attention. Her feet pad along the pavement in silent steps, hands tucked deep into her sleeves to counteract the chill breeze. The sun is somewhere behind the clouds, hiding it's warmth from the path. Footsteps ease from a manic pounding into the pavement to a steady, contemplative rhythm. Things have gotten better, a little. She’s gotten a hold of reality, a little. She’s slowed her descent into past demons, a little. It crosses her mind that maybe, if she’s thinking about whether or not a relationship would get in the way of her slow self destruction, that maybe she’s not quite fit for a relationship. She wonders whether the feelings are real. The feelings confessed to her aren’t new. She confessed them to Katya first a month and a half ago. It feels insane that it was only that long ago. But the feelings within Katya herself. Are they real? Is she lonely? Is she desperate? Is she losing her goddamn mind? Who knows. At least a little. Probably. Most likely. Katya can feel the tension in the back of her thighs, stressed from swinging wildly between over and under use. Two people like her. Two girls like her. And for what reason she has no idea. She feels like a fraud. There’s so much they don’t know about her. There’s so much they can’t know about her. She feels trapped. Once the world rights itself there’ll be very little that could keep her from packing her studio apartment into her car and driving as far east as it’ll take her. She doesn’t know where she stands with one of them. The boundaries haven’t been set. Boundaries that make her more nervous the more she thinks about them. She doesn’t like her, but she’s not in any sort of position to be cutting off friendships, if she can even call it that. She seems so much more into Katya than Katya is into her. Katya feels smothered and she hates it. So she doesn’t respond for a few days. Par for the course. Katya didn’t respond for a few months, and when she showed up at Katya’s workplace, entirely by chance, she was more than happy to pick up right where they had left off. So Katya went along with it. For a while. Because even though she’s not sure if she’s interested, it’s hard to say anything when she looks at Katya like she hung the damn moon. It’s hard to tell her to back off when she was the one who showed up at one in the morning to be there the first time she performed in drag. So who is she to tell her “I don’t like you like that.” Who is she to tell her “please give me space I’m dying.” Who is she to say “please stop caring so much it feels like I can’t breathe.” Because that’s not polite. That’s not right to say. And more maybe even more than that, it’s vulnerable. And that is the single part of a relationship that scares Katya the most. So she can’t be with her. And it leaves a sick feeling in her stomach everytime she thinks about having to set those boundaries. The pounding of her feet intensifies as she rounds the corner to go home, emotions bleeding into the street. She can’t wait for all this to be over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They talk, and she asks the hard questions. She asks Katya how she’s changed. She asks Katya why she wanted to kill herself. She asks Katya why the winter and summer leading up to it to that fall were intense. And Katya tries. She tries to give her back the vulnerability expressed to her over the past few days, weeks, months. She’s been so patient with Katya. She calls her intriguing. She calls her unexpected. Katya doesn’t think this was the kind of unexpected she wanted. It’s bizarre, the things Katya is willing to share. Her levels of boundaries are odd. Wanting to kill herself? Fine. Not for everyone to know, but fine enough. Despising the way she looks? Unhealthy coping mechanisms? No one needs to know that. Her therapist barely knows. “Her therapist.” Not that Katya has seen her in months. She should though. She knows enough to know that. The clock ticks closer to midnight as Katya checks her phone again, knowing full well she already fell asleep midconversation. Which is fair. It’s well enough time for most people to be asleep. Katya debates making a cup of tea, whether or not the effort required would be worth the relaxation. No, she decides. Not tonight. Today has been sufficiently exhausting to fall asleep at a fairly reasonable time. Reasonable as in, she’ll be asleep before two. Not staring at the ceiling at four in the morning, wondering why sleep still evades her. Not hyperventilating at three in the morning because the walls are closing in around her. Tonight will be fine. It’s weird to think that less than a month ago she was staying awake later and later for socialization, and drag shows, and fun. And now? There is none of that. In four minutes it will be Friday. The last time she saw another living person was Sunday. </p><p>And in the morning things are back to normal. They joke. They pick fun at each other. And Katya realizes she’s come to terms with her isolation. There are things that need to be done. She should go to the grocery store. She should talk to HR. But the idea of talking to another living, breathing human being sounds formidable. The idea of leaving her apartment without the comfort of nightfall sounds appalling. It’s not healthy. She knows it’s not. But she also can’t be bothered to care. She’ll leave the apartment when the coffee runs out, fully and completely. But not yet. Right now she’ll sit on her bed and watch Contact at one in the afternoon. She’ll do yoga and go for runs. But she’ll stay here alone. And that’s all she can bring herself to do right now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Should I proofread stuff before posting it? Absolutely. Is this complete and utter shit? Quite probably. But here we are. Comment if you liked it. Comment if you hated it. Or don't comment. It's your life.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This coffee tastes like shit. But it’s caffeinated, and Katya is no stranger to shitty coffee. Sometimes she thinks the shitty coffee tastes better than good coffee, if only because of the memories attached to it. The television program shows a touching moment of family members supporting each other, and at two in the afternoon, she can’t take it anymore. She misses her dance family. She hates the idea of leaving them just as much as she hates the idea of staying where she is for another year. This city that feels like home, at times feels like it’s suffocating her, sucking the life force out of her. She’s twenty two, and so tired, so worn out. Without dance, her existence here feels pointless, meaningless, like it’s doing more harm than good. Everything is too close to the things she’s trying to get away from. She thinks back to the reality show playing, and like a fool, tries to think of herself in their shoes. What family does she have that would support her? Surely not any blood relation. How long would it take for the people from dance to forget about her after she leaves? What if she moves and never finds that sense of belonging again? What if she moves and none of it was worth it? Could she come back? Would she let herself come back? Her heart pounds in her chest and she feels the pressure building behind her eyes. She hates it. Absolutely hates it. Because Katya Zamolodchikova doesn’t cry. She doesn’t feel there’s any use for it. Personally, at least. At work she sees people cry from all sorts of reasons--fear, stress, sadness, frustration, anger, pain-- and she encourages them all. Let it out. Get it out and you’ll feel better. But personally? Crying gives her a migraine and exhausts her, leaving her physically and emotionally drained for the rest of the day. So crying serves no purpose for her. It gets in the way when things need to be done. It’s probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but it’s certainly not the worst she’s used. Maybe it’s the number of times crying was perceived as weakness growing up. Maybe it was the correlation of crying and being “more like your mom” and feeling so unseen. Maybe it was the commendation for “staying strong,” because even though she’s cashing in on every single one of her healthy and unhealthy coping mechanisms, she’s not crying, so that means that she’s okay, and that she’s strong. Maybe it’s that crying is associated with vulnerability, another one of those things she doesn’t do well. Katya has ten days to decide what she feels for this girl, and she has no idea what she’ll say to her. Because Katya doesn’t play well with others. She never has. Even more so in the recent...over half of a decade? Has it really been that long? She’s likeable enough. People enjoy her company and her presence. But she’s distant. She’s at arms length. And if you ask her, she fades into the background. She’s forgettable. She’s invisible.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>'sup y'all. I am tired. But aren't we all? I can't wait to go back to work. I think I'll probably pick up some night shifts soon, which, night shift sucks balls, but not working sucks worse. I feel like this story is just kind of floundering, just kind of a place to get emotions out. Would y'all prefer for one of the aforementioned girls to be Trixie, or should I introduce her as an entirely new character? I'm torn. Hope everyone's staying sane, safe, and staying tf at home. To those who don't have a choice in staying home or going to work, you're the real mvps. Thank you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind has been brutal recently. It’s finally warm enough to wear shorts and a jacket to run in, but Katya can feel the skin above her cheekbones getting paper thin from wind exposure and exhaustion. Tonight she’ll wash her face in the shower and put on as much shitty dollar store moisturizer as her skin can absorb. But first, she has to get home. Tonight’s run isn’t as manic as some have been. The steady thump of her feet on the pavement take her away from her apartment, through downtown, and then back, her mind floating somewhere else the entire time. She rounds the corner to the street she lives on, too soon it almost feels. Katya knows she could go longer, go faster, what have you, and there’s been times where she’s pushed herself to do either one or both. But tonight, tonight she takes a breath and doesn’t think about it. A brief stretch at the stoplight before a dead sprint down the final block to her building, and she’s back. It’s sunday, she doesn’t bother to check the mail. Grabbing her water bottle, she climbs the additional half flight of stairs to the landing between the second and third floors. The window of every landing is a different distance from the floor, and she’s found this one to be the perfect height to stretch at after surpassing the flexibility of the windowsill of her apartment. She lifts her leg onto the windowsill and sinks into her hips, feeling the flex and relaxation of muscles. Shifting back slightly, she pivots to stretch directly over her leg, so lost in thought that she almost misses the individual standing at the top of the stairs. Katya straightens up, staring back as she tugs out an earbud.<br/>	“Do you want me to go be somewhere else?” Okay, so probably not the most tactful, but what does one say in this scenario.<br/>	“No, no, no, you’re fine. Sorry to stare. I was trying to figure out how you got your leg up there.” The young woman fidgets with the tail of a blonde braid, a light blush rising to her cheeks. Katya maintains eye contact as she grabs the ball of her foot, lifting her leg off the windowsill and opening to the side before gently letting it drop down.<br/>	“Practice, mama. Give it time and you could get your leg up there too, but don’t go stealing my stretching spot now.” Katya’s deadpan delivery cracks a grin from the girl as she descends the stairs to join Katya on the landing, where Katya finds she still has to look up at her. She extends a gentle hand towards Katya.<br/>	“I’m Trixie.” Cautiously, Katya takes the hand reached out towards her and shakes twice.<br/>	“Katya.” Silence hangs between the two of them and Katya itches to wipe her hand on her shorts, nervous of how clammy her hands must have been.<br/>	“Um, well, I’ll get out of your hair, but it was nice to meet you.” Katya nods in response to the taller blonde, though she isn’t quite sure why. Despite living in the building for a few months shy of two years, Katya only knows one other tenant, who she frankly doesn’t care to interact with much. But Trixie seems nice. She rounds the corner of the stairwell and Katya resumes stretching on the other side, a peculiar new intrigue joining her thoughts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey, so we might get some actual plot up in here. Or maybe not. Who knows. We're gonna try.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Katya exhales heavily through her nose as she rubs her face. Fuck. She’s scrolled through the meager contacts list in her phone more times than necessary. There’s no one there. She can do this on her own. Just like she does with everything else. She shouldn’t have had that last cup of coffee. She can feel her heartbeat thumping through her chest but her arms don’t quite feel like part of her body. It’s almost dark out. Finally. A run will help. Yesterday contained two runs, and the high is addicting. Her heart aches in her chest. Katya sets the computer aside and crosses the room to the window. The cool glass feels good as she leans her forehead against it. She’ll miss this city. She’ll miss the home that her tiny apartment has become. She’ll miss the only gay bar in town where she learned she loves the nightlife, where she first performed in drag. She’ll miss the family she has at dance. But she’s so ready to be gone. The spreadsheet pulled up on the laptop shows the job titles and hyperlinks of eleven recently applied to jobs. All east of here. Far east. Boston, Baltimore, New York...anywhere but here. But almost everywhere is on a hiring freeze. And she’s technically still contracted to be here for almost two more months. The thought of leaving before seeing her dance family one more time, dancing with them, being a part of them...all sorts of emotions well up in her chest and she forces them down. Not right now. The apartment sits in varying states of disarray. Katya had begun to clean and reorganize everything earlier, but lost the motivation somewhere along the way. Shocking, right? A deep sadness wells in her chest, perched on the edge of her bed, knee bouncing uncontrollably as she watches messages appear in the group chat. Despite a strong tendency to introversion, the people are what Katya will miss most when she leaves. These people, most specifically. These people, who have made her feel loved and accepted and almost whole. The dance company was one reason why she stayed so long. But in her heart she knows, it’s not enough to stay another year. Not with things like they are. Without rehearsal, life feels...different. Inconsistent. Inadequate. Subpar. She could go on listing all of the things she feels without dance, but in the end, they’re all euphemisms for numb and sad. She’s grateful for what she has here, she really is. She loves the little apartment that feels more like home than anywhere before. She loves the jobs she has and the people she sees there. She loves the dance company. But she has to get out. Out of the conservative midwest, out of the state she was born and raised in, out of the hour’s drive circumference she’s spent nearly her entire life in. She doesn’t respond to the chat. Communication with anyone has become more and more limited as she applies for more and more jobs. Sure, she talks to plenty of people at work. She has to. It’s her job. To lift people up and make them feel cared about, supported, and safe. But at the end of those twelve hours she goes home, and there is no one for her to care about, and no one who she will allow to care about her. It’s a bad idea to shut herself away from everyone, and Katya knows this. It’s not her first rodeo. But if this is what she feels before even having a set plan and time to move, she can’t bear to build up relationships here any more. She knows in her heart that she’s going to leave, that she needs to leave. It’s strange how quickly things are changing while so much is still standing still. Monday Katya had been preparing to tell a girl she’d be willing to try a relationship. Now, as the clock ticks into Thursday, Katya knows she will tell the girl no, I don’t like you like that. And Katya wonders, maybe, if she isn’t cut out to find anyone like that at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>'Sup y'all. Another short, shitty chapter, because I'm sad and trying to put this shit to paper (metaphorically I guess) is better than wallowing in it. Hope everyone's well. Stay safe, and stay the fuck home.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She shuts the door behind her before leaning back against it, breathing in the familiar scent of the tiny apartment. Home, it screams to all of her senses. The clock in the corner blares 5:43a in neon green numbers. Night shift is brutal, but Katya can’t complain. It gets her out of the apartment. It pays the bills. It gives her a purpose in life instead of sitting in bed applying for jobs all day, creating spreadsheet after spreadsheet of plans to get out of this small town. It’s not really a small town, Katya admits to herself. It’s the biggest city she’s ever lived in. But somedays it feels small, especially with so much of her time being constricted to one room, without any of her previous obligations to occupy her. Before the world hit pause, Katya didn’t realize how much of her time she was filling to avoid spending time with herself. Kicking off her shoes, she drops all of her hospital clothes into a pile turned inside out on the floor, replacing them with sweats, a hoodie, and her running shoes. The past twelve and a half hours ease off her back and out onto the pavements as her feet fall into rhythm. It wasn’t a bad shift, just long. Sometimes the shifts where everyone behaves feel longer than the shifts where everything is chaos. Not that Katya would rather get beaten up. Not at all. She thinks back to when she was first hired into psych, on the unit with geriatric patients. The job wasn’t much different than when she worked in the nursing home, but her mother worried anyway. Because of the label. Because psych. She lets out a huff of breath through her nose. As if her mother had any room to express disdain for the mentally ill. As if that description didn’t include her, and her daughter. The amount of information Katya doesn’t share with her parents could fill a book, with several chapters devoted only to work. Thank god for makeup. A code strong the week before the dance company’s christmas performance had left Katya purple and blue in more areas than one. But she loves her job. She loves getting to help the people. She strives to help people not feel the way she felt for so long. There’s a woman at work right now, a trans woman, that Katya worries about. Not everyone is kind in midwest America. The sun is just beginning to peak out from behind the horizon as Katya lets herself into the old building. Someone has left a bottle of hand sanitizer on the shelf in the entryway, prompting a small smile from Katya as she mentally thanks whoever it was. The two flights up to her apartment feel like a mountain this morning, and she pauses to breathe on the landing in between. Gentle sounds of a guitar float down the otherwise silent hallway and Katya is drawn towards them. The music comes from the apartment directly below her own. She wishes she could knock and tell whoever it is that they’re wonderfully talented, emboldened by the post-run endorphins. But even with a runner’s high Katya knows it’s a bad idea. She continues on and climbs the final flight of stairs, stretching just enough to not be in immense pain when she wakes up, and finally collapses into bed, the melody from downstairs still ringing through her head, easing her to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey y'all. If this you've been here, I changed the first seven chapters a little. But here's to hopefully more plot! And better writing. And not just shitty emotions. Because I'm really good at those and no thank you. Hope y'all are doing well. Stay safe, and stay the fuck home.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The force with which her feet strike the pavement radiate shock through her knees.. The bones in her ankles feel like they’re colliding with each other. The front of her shins ache but she keeps going, and going, and going. She knows she should take a day off but doesn’t know how to allow herself to do so. It’s not even 6am and she’s already thinking about how she should go for a run tonight as well. She shouldn’t, but she knows she probably will. The coffee she chugged at 3:30 this morning courses through her veins. What a night. The best runs are the ones she can barely remember, Katya feels. The ones where she seems to wake up a mile or more from her apartment, blissfully unbothered by everything except the music in her ears, the air filling her lungs, and the pounding of her feet on the ground beneath her. This morning is not one of those runs. But nonetheless, the racing of her thoughts eases into the cool morning air. A cat skitters off the sidewalk in front of her and Katya stops in her tracks, careful not to move too quick or breathe too loud as she gently extends a hand to the small creature before her. They lock eyes, staring at each other for a minute before the cat sprints into the darkness and Katya continues on her way back home. There’s no one out in the parking lot this morning, thankfully. Katya has a love/hate relationship with living so close to work. On the one hand, it’s wonderful to be able to wake up at 4:30 and leave the apartment at 4:50 for a 5am shift. On the other hand, if she ever sees a coworker while she’s out running, Katya’s narrowed her options down to moving to Canada or jumping into oncoming traffic. She throws her shoulder into the door, opting to use her body weight against the heavy entranceway rather than exert any more energy than necessary. The stairs feel like a mountain this morning, but it’s a necessary evil to keep her knees from falling apart any more than they already are. She grabs her glasses and some water from her apartment before taking the stairs as high as they go, and then as low, over and over again. As Katya crosses the basement hallway to the opposite set of stairs, a melody catches her ear. A soft voice joins the guitar this morning and Katya leans against the wall, closing her eyes as she catches her breath and lets the soothing sound seep into her bones. The music stops and before she has a chance to find somewhere else to be, the door to the laundry room swings open, leaving Katya standing like a deer in the headlights. <br/>	“If you wanted to listen, you could’ve opened the door.” A tall blonde stands in the doorway, one hand propped on her hip, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “It’s much less creepy.” Katya flushes red, her pale complexion betraying her embarrassment in a heartbeat. But a laugh tumbles from the other girl’s mouth and Katya can’t help but nervously smile in return. <br/>	“Sorry. It sounds really good. You sound really good? That sounds odd. You’re talented? Is that weird to say? I’m rambling. I’ll shut up now.” Words fall out of her mouth faster than Katya’s brain can tell them to stop and she wants to bury her face in her hands with embarrassment. Laughter fills the hallway again and Katya breathes a sigh of relief. <br/>	“Katya--it is Katya, right?” She nods almost imperceptibly. “I’m not gonna bite. You’re fine. But what the hell are you doing outside at oh, too fucking early in the morning?”<br/>	“Hooking.” Her deadpan response grants another peal of laughter and Katya finds herself revelling in how easy it is to make the taller girl laugh, and the absurd way the sound makes her feel.<br/>	“In this get up, mama? Better get a day job.” Katya can’t help the wheeze of a laugh that escapes her, stomping her foot on the ground in mock outrage.<br/>	“Fuck you! I went for a run after work. What are you doing in the laundry room, with a guitar, when it’s fully time for people to be asleep?”<br/>	“Laundry, obviously. Nobody does their laundry this early, so the machines are always open.” Katya shrugs. She does have a point. As if on cue, the washer buzzes it’s finish. <br/>	“I’ll leave you to it. See ya ‘round, Trixie.” And with that she’s off, anxiety fighting with post run endorphins for dominance. In the end exhaustion takes precedence, and she doesn’t notice the way the taller blonde watches her go, hand raised in a slight wave, confusion tingling in her expression.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She should get up. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. It was her call after all. Can you feel heartache when it’s you who’s causing the ache? She feels all rough edges and hard walls and so very alone. Messages pop up on her phone and she mentally berates herself. If anyone has a right to be hurt, it’s not Katya. She wonders why the sender of the messages even wants to talk to her right now. It’s not that Katya means to go the whole day without responding to anyone; it’s just that for some reason a heavy sadness hangs over her. It was her choice not to pursue a relationship. But was it really? Workplace relationships are messy enough without that workplace being what theirs is. And all of the things Katya knows inside that she’s scared to let her see, and what kind of relationship would it be without honesty? Katya knows she wouldn’t have liked all of who she saw. Katya knows the person she is at work is more or less a compilation, almost an exaggeration of many of her better parts. There she is strong, she is kind, she is calm, she’s cool and collected and on top of things. And outside of work...Katya pushes people away. She exists in a cesspools of anxiety. She strives to get out of this place and the thought of never doing so is enough to send her spiraling into a well of depression. Warm water beats down on her sore legs as she sits on the shower floor. Two runs today. Just five miles. It’s not as bad as the last time. As much as Katya doesn’t want to admit it, she’s slipping faster than she would like. It’s not a choice anymore, whether or not she goes for a run every day. It’s sometimes a choice of when, but most often it’s which her work schedule allows for, and on her days off following a night of work, it’s become two. Her body feels so heavy with sadness and exhaustion, but she knows the physicality would disagree. She has time, she thinks. She has time to figure her shit out, time to get herself together, before people at work begin to notice. Thank god for scrub pants and oversized jackets. She wishes that twisted part of her brain didn’t spark at the wondering of how far things can go before she has to stop. Katya is in no way fit for a relationship, and yet this girl has idealized her in her mind. It’s far too late to have been sitting in the shower for as long as she has. Her body goes through the motions of towelling off and getting dressed while her head maintains a fog of bone deep exhaustion. Maybe she’ll actually be able to get some rest tonight. At least she’ll only be battling her own demons for sleep, without the sun shining in through the cheap window blinds.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Damn girl, who's chasing you?” Katya’s head whips around, walking back towards the gate she just sprinted past. There's Trixie, sitting on the bench outside of the apartment building, holding a cup of tea, calm as anything. Katya wonders what that kind of peace must be like as she lets out a wheeze and a grin. <br/>“Russian mafia. Gotta be prepared for when they find me.” Trixie cackles in response as Katya struggles to catch her breath. <br/>“What'd you do? Steal their puppy?”<br/>“Shut up! I'll have you know there are plenty of people in this world who find me intimidating.” <br/>“I don't even need upper body strength to fight you. I'll just sit on you and it's game over bitch.” Katya's thankful for the post-run flush to cover up the warmth that rises to her cheeks as Trixie pokes fun at her.<br/>“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”<br/>“Thanks. I'll think back on it tomorrow. My last cup of tea.” Trixie gestures with the mug in her hand. <br/>“Go to the grocery. Problem solved.”<br/>“My car broke down last week and there's no sense in getting it fixed when I'm going to be driving to all of two places. Haven't run out of food yet but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.”<br/>“Don't be stupid. I'm off tomorrow and need to go to the store.” Katya surprises herself with the forwardness of the statement, and the tips of Trixie's ears tinge pink.<br/>“I mean it's not that big of a deal. I can take the bus or something.” It occurs to Katya that this might be the first time she's seen Trixie with less than an overwhelming amount of self confidence.<br/>“You don't have to if you don't want to, I mean I'm not going to force you or anything but I'm going anyways and if you need to go it just makes sense so I thought I'd offer but now I'm rambling so I'm gonna shut up.” Katya fidgets her fingers together as an awkward silence hangs between them.<br/>“That would be nice. Thank you.” Trixie twirls a strand of hair that's fallen out of her up do and Katya tries not to visibly breathe a sigh of relief. <br/>“Cool. Awesome. Neat. Sorry.” Katya's mouth doesn't seem to want to listen to her brain tonight and she eyes the sidewalk beneath her feet. Nervous laughter spills from Trixie's grin and she gently smacks Katya's elbow.<br/>“What are you apologizing for? I'm grateful. I just don't want you to feel like you have to or anything. Here, what's your number? I'll shoot you a text and you can text me when you want to go tomorrow. I'm free the whole day so it doesn't matter to me.” Trixie pulls a pink covered phone out from under her thigh and Katya rattles off her phone number, thankful for Trixie's easy nature and if she's completely honest, maybe a little envious of how comfortable she is with herself. The strain of trying to focus on Trixie has her eyes beginning to cross and she resists the urge to rub her knuckles into her eye sockets. Trixie suppresses a yawn as she glances into her now empty mug of tea. “It's getting late. I should let you go. Thanks again, Katya.” She brushes her hand along Katya's shoulder as they head back into the building. Trixie is all soft touches and loud laughs and strong confidence and Katya doesn't know what to make of any of it. She climbs the stairs to her apartment, setting her phone to charge beside her bed. Katya can feel the release of her muscles as she cycles through her favorite yoga sequence. Her thoughts settle from racing by at ninety miles an hour to an easy forty five. When she crawls into bed, there’s a message notification blinking on her phone.<br/>An unfamiliar number has sent her a video of cats getting scared by cucumbers. Katya lets out an amused huff through her nose as she saves the number as Trixie's. She types out a reply without anticipating a response. It's well past time to be asleep. The green numbers on the clock tick later and later as sleep evades Katya, the early hours of the morning eventually bringing a fitful slumber.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sup y'all I got google docs on my phone and have fully been working on this at work because, night shift</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's too early to be awake again. Katya rolls over and buries her face in her pillow, hiding from the sunlight coming through the window. Even without the sunlight in her eyes, her brain seems to be up and racing for the day. She reluctantly sits up, grasping for her glasses on the nightstand without bothering to look. Coffee will make things better. She grabs her phone on her way to the kitchen counter and finds a message from Trixie waiting for her. So last night was real, she thinks. She really did invite a practical stranger to go grocery shopping, while at the same time getting the number of a very pretty, very intimidating girl. Cool. Katya turns the notifications on her phone to vibrate and replies to Trixie as the coffee maker sputters to a finish. The remainder of the morning passes in the same old blur, drinking too much coffee and puttering around the apartment cleaning everything or doing absolutely nothing. A short buzz interrupts Katya's music. It's Trixie. That lucky bitch fell back asleep for a period of hours. They agree to meet up soon and Katya busies herself getting ready, grabbing just one more cup of coffee to take with her. Trixie patters down the half flight of stairs to the entryway a few minutes after Katya, and Katya can't help but feel like a zombie. Trixie looks fresh and well rested, her long blonde hair falling in smooth waves to her waist. Katya, on the other hand, hopes the bags beneath her eyes blend into the dark liner she has smudged around them, and her hair is an unruly cascade threatening to engulf her face. Oh well. <br/>“Hey! Thanks again for this. I really appreciate it.” Trixie's voice is bright as Katya sips her coffee before offering a smile in response. <br/>“It's no big deal. Not a problem at all.”<br/>~~~~<br/>Trixie takes in the taught line of Katya's shoulders, the way her blue eyes look so tired behind her dark frames. She looks so strong when she runs and today she just looks...small. Trixie's not a hugger by nature, but she almost wants to give Katya a hug. Not that she thinks the hug would be well received, which is honestly the primary reason she won't do it. Not today at least. Katya makes idle chatter on the way to the store, sipping coffee and asking Trixie questions about herself. She seems to enjoy Trixie's dry sense of humor, and Trixie enjoys the wheeze of laughter that brightens Katya's face. The harsh ridge of her shoulders eases over the short drive, but as they pull into the parking lot, Trixie can almost feel the tension returning to Katya. She parks the car and they walk to the store in silence. <br/>“Text me when you're done?” Katya glances up at Trixie as she poses the question. Trixie nods in response, unsure of what to say to ease the smaller girl's mind. Half an hour later and her wallet a little lighter, Trixie pulls out her phone as she walks to the bench just inside the door. To her surprise, there's already someone there. Katya’s small figure hunches in on itself, leg bouncing at a rapid rate, tote bag of groceries clutched to her shoulder. <br/>“Hey.” Katya's neck snaps up, eyes wide. “Hey. Sorry.” She scrambles to stand up and sways a little. “Ready?”<br/>“Absolutely. I hope I didn't keep you waiting. I thought you were going to text.” They take off towards the car, Katya focused on the ground or straight ahead, Trixie focused on Katya <br/>“I wasn't there long. I didn't want to rush you.” Trixie lets out a light laugh.<br/>“You literally drove me here and are about to drive us home and you didn't want to rush me? You're too much, girl.” Katya snorts out a laugh as she glances at Trixie, rolling her eyes as she shrugs in response. The drive home is quieter but less tense than the drive there. Trixie tries not to stare at Katya as she drives. She looks tired, drained. Trixie tells herself it's not her place to ask questions, to know why; it's not her place to worry, but she does so anyways. They park the car and return to the apartment building, Trixie thanking Katya profusely as Katya assures her it's nothing. Trixie almost offers Katya a cup of tea, but she can see the tremor in her hand as she runs her fingers through her hair, the way she barely even tries to make eye contact. And so she doesn't, hoping the smaller girl gets some rest. Trixie watches the black jean clad legs disappear up the stairs before shutting the door to her apartment behind her, her mind mulling over the past couple of hours. What a day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have done absolutely nothing but lay on various places in my apartment since getting home this morning.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's just the second day in a row. Thank whoever it's not a three day stretch this time. Katya changes her route on the way back to her apartment, avoiding the person sitting on the stair of the church on the corner and instead jogging through the parking garage, crossing the street directly to the old brick building. It's a decent route; she doesn’t sprint at the end though. To be honest, that's okay with Katya. She's not sure if she has the energy to sprint at the ends of her runs anymore. The sky moves a little as she slows to a walk inside the gate. Her arm feels like there are bricks weighing it down as she lets herself into the building. She pauses on the first floor landing, winded from the run and half flight of stairs, willing the walls to stop spinning.<br/>
~~~~<br/>
She shuts the door behind her, careful to be quiet at the early hour of the morning. The forecast predicts a long awaited break from the cold, a beautiful day to watch the sunrise. Trixie turns to head down the hallway and freezes. Long legs carry her quickly down the hallway, reaching the figure curled up just before the stairs. Up close, she can see the shallow rise and fall of the slight torso.<br/>
“Hey.” She makes her voice as gentle as she can, but louder than a whisper. There's no response. “Katya. Hey.” Trixie pushes blonde scraggles of hair out of the other girl’s face and she moves slightly with the touch. With a slight sigh, Trixie shifts back onto her heels, glancing at her apartment door and then back to Katya. Quietly, she unlocks her apartment door, leaving it open as she crosses back down the hallway. She snakes an arm underneath Katya's neck, the other in the crevice of her knees, thankful for all the squats she's done as she stands back up. It's easier than it should be. Katya shifts in her arms, curling in on herself and closer to Trixie. Despite her apartment being small, Trixie has always felt like that a couch makes the place feel more like a home. Now she's doubly grateful for it. Settling Katya on the couch, she locks the door behind them and sets a kettle to boil.<br/>
~~~~<br/>
Katya startles awake to the whistle scream of the tea kettle, eyes wide and unfocused. Where is she? The screaming stops and soon after there's a warm beverage held in front of her. She follows the line of the arm holding the steaming mug up to a concerned face. In particular, Trixie's concerned face. Shit. “Here.” Trixie's voice is gentle, and Katya takes the mug, letting the steam warm her face. She can already feel a headache building. She should move. She should get up and leave. But she's holding a mug full of tea, and Trixie won't stop looking at her.<br/>
“I'm sorry.” Her voice comes out smaller than she'd like it to.<br/>
“Hey. None of that. There's nothing to apologize for so I'm not gonna hear it.” Katya hates the worry at the edge of Trixie's voice. She hates that she caused that. Silence hangs between them as Katya gets lost in her thoughts. “If you give me your keys I can go grab your glasses.” Katya tries to shake her head, placing her mug on the floor beside the couch as she stands up. The room instantly is put on a turntable and she sways. Trixie encourages her to sit with a light hand on her elbow, and she doesn't fight it. Reluctantly, she pulls her keys out of her pocket and hands them over. She sits with her head in her hands as she hears the door shut behind Trixie. <br/>
~~~~ <br/>
The apartment is immaculate. No, not immaculate. Bare. There are small touches that someone lives here-- a candle in the curtainless windows, a coffee maker on the counter-- but nothing permanent. Nothing that can't be moved out in a day's time. The black framed glasses are easy enough to find. Sunlight has just begun to filter in through the window as she lets herself out, locking the door behind her. When she returns to her apartment, Katya sits exactly where she had left her. She looks so small by herself, curled in the corner of the couch. Trixie's heart breaks a little. She lays a hand on her shoulder and holds the glasses out in front of her.
“Thanks. You really didn't have to.”
“Your eyes cross when you get a headache.” 
“Oh.” Katya draws her knees into her chest, the steam from the mug fogging her glasses intermittently. She keeps her eyes down, not wanting to meet Trixie's gaze. The silence that stretches between them makes her want to squirm. Trixie watches her from the other end of the couch, unsure of what to say. There's so much she wants to say, so many questions she wants to ask, but is it really her place to do any of that? She makes a mental checklist of what needs to happen. Katya needs food, and she needs to sleep. Trixie wants to ask for an explanation, wants a conversation on how to help moving forward, but she knows right now they're not necessary. First things first: sleep.
“Do you work today?”
“I just got off. I don't have to be back until 5p tomorrow.” Trixie nods. Good. They have time. At least a little. Katya takes a breath in, pausing before opening her mouth again. “Um, can I ask, how did I get here?” Trixie's ears tinge pink at the tips. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she overstepped her bounds, caring too much like she always seems to do. 
“You passed out in the hallway, I think. I was going to watch the sunrise and you were laying on the landing. I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't really, so I brought you here.” A beat passes. “The tea kettle screaming always wakes me up.” Trixie shrugs as Katya watches her, listening intently. “It's like a hug in a cup. Promise I didn't poison it. But you don't have to drink it if you don't want to.  I just thought…”  Trixie trails off, running a hand through her hair. 
“Thank you.” Katya's voice is barely above a whisper as she takes a sip. Warmth floods through her, eliminating the chills she always feels, even on a warm day. “I'm sorry.” Trixie didn't think Katya's voice could get any softer, any smaller, and then it did.
“Can I touch you?” 
“I haven't showered since the hospital.”
“That doesn't matter to me.” Katya stares at Trixie for a while and then shrugs. Trixie moves to the back of the couch, resting her hands on Katya's tension filled shoulders. She begins to knead into them, hesitating on how to proceed. Katya doesn't like eye contact when she feels vulnerable, so Trixie is behind her. Trixie has been told she has magic in her hands, and she hopes for today that holds true.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey so apparently I don't know how to write unless I'm working night shift or laying on the floor of my shower</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you want to talk about it?” She's thankful Trixie is behind her, not watching her facial expressions. She doesn't have the energy to monitor them right now. And her muscles feel like butter beneath Trixie's strong hands.<br/>“No.” She pauses a beat before amending her statement. “I want to say there's nothing to talk about, but you deserve more than that.” Katya can't seem to figure out why someone who knows so little about her would care so much, and why the fear of it hasn't absolutely paralyzed Katya or sent her running yet. What is different?<br/>“Have you eaten today?” There's a gentle hesitancy in Trixie's voice, so unaccusing, that Katya appreciates. <br/>“I eat after my run.”<br/>“Have you slept?” <br/>“Yesterday.”<br/>“Enough? Of either?” Katya remains silent. She doesn't want to be dishonest, but she doesn't know how to answer either. She has told herself she was doing fine, she was doing enough, but here she is, so obviously not. She gives a slight shrug as a response to Trixie's question. “How far did you run?”<br/>“Just two and a half miles.”<br/>“Just?”<br/>“Yeah.”<br/>“Bitch I'd die before I got to the stoplight.” Trixie feels the soft amused wheeze Katya exhales through her nose as she palpates the muscles on the backs of her ribs. Katya has muscles Trixie didn't know existed, and they're all painfully tense. They sit in silence and Trixie can practically hear Katya's brain whirring.<br/>“I like to run three. I used to run about six and a half every day.” She gives a beat, contemplating. “That wasn't healthy. But I'd like to be back to running...five? Four or five sounds good.” Trixie waits, not wanting to interrupt anything Katya has to say.<br/>“Why?” Katya is quiet for a moment.<br/>“I'm not sure. It's what my brain decided is good, I guess.” She starts to continue, then stops, struggling to find the words she wants to say. “I feel good when I'm running, most of the time. And I feel good after. Most of the time. Post run endorphins are like drugs. It's bliss.” <br/>Trixie listens, fingers working the grooves next to Katya's shoulder blades. Katya chases bliss, but what is she running from? What goes on in her brain that it's decided this is what works? She sits back on the couch, tugging Katya's legs towards her to work through the tense muscles of her calves. Katya doesn't argue. <br/>“How was work?” Katya takes a deep breath before answering.<br/>“Fine. Long-ish.” A few beats pass. “I love my job. I enjoy the people I work with. I'm glad to still have a job.”<br/>“But?”<br/>“It's a lot. Night shift is a lot. There's just...a lot going on right now I guess.”<br/>“Is night shift new for you?”<br/>“Not entirely. I'd pick up night shifts here and there but only when it didn't interfere with everything else going on. But now everything else is on pause, and that's where they need people, so that's where I go.” The words flow out of Katya as if on autopilot. Exhaustion dominates any other emotion that could be expressed in her face. Trixie waits, quietly, weighing her question in her head.<br/>“And what do you need?” Katya blinks, her face breaking into a deep sadness before returning to exhaustion.<br/>“A nap.” It looks like there's so much more she doesn't want to say, but Trixie doesn't push.<br/>“Stay here for a while?” Katya hesitates, looking like she's about to protest. Trixie interrupts and gestures to the windows. “Blackout curtains make it really dark in here. Maybe it'll help you sleep a little better.”<br/>“I don't want to intrude. I've done so enough already.”<br/>“You haven't, at all, honest.” She gets up and grabs an apple from the counter, tossing it to Katya. “Here. Eat. Please.” Katya watches her with wide, tired eyes, but slowly bites into the apple as Trixie disappears into the bedroom. When she returns, her arms are full of a soft, grey blanket. “Blackout curtains and a weighted blanket and I am dead to the world for hours. Hopefully you'll be able to get at least a little rest.” Katya thanks her, her voice small and unsure. Trixie covers Katya in the blanket, her small figure almost entirely engulfed. And with that, Trixie crosses to the other side of the room, picking up her phone from beside the armchair. Close enough if Katya needs anything, but enough to give her space. She opens the library app and disappears. Two chapters later, Trixie reemerges from the book to see Katya curled into the corner of the couch, six apple seeds deposited in the empty mug next to her glasses. She looks so young asleep. She looks so tired. With her pale, gaunt face and shallow breath, the only distinction of life is the light movement of the hair that's fallen across her face. Trixie resists the urge to go over and brush it out of her face, but she knows that would cross a line. And so she picks back up where she left off, content to spend the next few hours in her imagination.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Katya wakes up, disoriented, legs aching. The room slowly comes into, sort of focus. The room is dark, slivers of sunlight gleaming in around heavy curtains. Trixie's apartment. Coffee is brewing on the counter, but Trixie is nowhere to be seen. Katya crawls out from under the blanket, regretful that she'd ended up in Trixie's apartment before stretching. She stands up, taking a few careful steps away from the couch before stretching to the ceiling and rolling down to a forward fold. She cycles through her yoga routine, repeating her standard sequence more than usual until she feels the release in her calves as she lays her hands on the floor. Yoga to Katya is focused, grounding, intuitive. It helps remind her to be grateful for all her body can do, not that she'd ever admit something so cheesy out loud. Deep in a lunge, Katya places one hand outside of her foot and the other reaches toward the ceiling, the spiral stretching her spine. There's a slight gasp behind her and Katya almost falls out of balance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I could not visibly see your bones, I would be unconvinced that you had any.” Katya snorts and transitions to sitting, grabbing her glasses before looking up at Trixie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I didn't stretch after running and my muscles were definitely letting me know.” She averts her gaze down, shame tingeing her ears. Trixie takes in her appearance, her sweatshirt and running tights rumpled from sleep, shadows still present beneath her eyes, but she looks more peaceful than before, exhaustion no longer as present in every fiber of her being. She has no business being as soft and lovely as she is right now, and Trixie tells herself she has no business thinking such things right now either. “Thank you for, um--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about it.” Trixie cuts her off. “I'm glad you got some sleep. I made coffee.” She extends a steaming mug and Katya murmurs her thanks, wrapping both hands around the mug and allowing the heat to travel through her body and inhaling the familiar scent of cheap coffee. “I made it the way I like it, because cheap coffee tastes like shit black, and while I think you drink enough coffee that you'll have a headache without it, I don't think you're a monster.” Trixie smiles at her, and Katya tells herself it's the sip of coffee warming her chest, and certainly not anything else. “Mama I am a monster, just not one that drinks coffee black.” She takes another sip, the steam fogging her glasses. “This is good. Thank you.” Katya hopes that Trixie knows the thanks is for far more than the cup of coffee, but she doesn't know how to say everything. “So, um, do you work around here?” She tries to lighten the mood a little, change the subject from Katya. Hearing the question out loud, Katya tinges red at the ears at how dumb it sounds. Trixie giggles in response to Katya’s blush before answering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do! I’m a barista downtown and teach music lessons on the side. That’s what I love but, gotta pay the bills y'know? And I enjoy making coffee for people. It’s not a bad gig. We’re hoping to open back up soon.” Katya listens intently as she sips her coffee. She thinks it suits Trixie—she has no problem imagining her smiling wide as she hands someone a cup of coffee, wishing them a good day. But maybe Katya is just a caffeine addict and considers coffee a necessary bright point of every day. “I’m ready for the studio to reopen. Online teaching does not work for music.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of music do you teach?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mainly guitar, just like, hobby stuff. Occasionally there’ll be some voice lessons but not as often. I’m not good enough to be teaching anyone super serious, but there’s a handful of people who like learning for fun that I teach.” Trixie downplays her own abilities, having never taken lessons until college. She’d been around the music forever, but never formally trained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re wonderful. How long have you been playing?” Now it’s Trixie’s turn to blush at the compliment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandpa taught me to play when I was thirteen, so almost a decade. I didn’t have any formal training until college though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that matter? They all sound the same but when you play it has personality.” Trixie flushes a deeper pink and hides her face in her coffee mug for a moment. She does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>know how to take a compliment </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you? Where do you work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katya takes a deep breath, staring into her coffee for a second before answering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I work psych.” The phrase comes out blunt and intense, trying to mask her uncertainty of how Trixie will react. But Trixie just nods, her eyes widen a little but there’s no judgement in them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the hospital?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” Katya shrugs in response. Her job isn’t always the intrigue and action people imagine. “Do you like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it.” She opens her mouth to continue, shuts it, and then barrels ahead before she can second guess herself anymore. “I feel like I’m doing something that actually means something, most of the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You spend a lot of time there.” It’s an observation, not a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess. It’s not like there’s a whole lot else going on right now though.” Trixie nods in agreement, encouraging Katya to continue. “Dance was put on hold and they needed more night techs so I just kinda, filled in where it was needed.” Trixie studies Katya as she states into her coffee mug. She looks so resigned to her sadness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good at it.” Too good, Trixie wants to say, but that would be out of line. She barely knows Katya and already knows some of the extent to which she will disregard her own needs for other people. Katya shrugs. She tries her best, but some days it feels hopeless. Some days she feels purposeful, some days she feels useless. Trixie studies her before continuing. “You understand. You care.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I forgot where I was going with this chapter tbh. Not sure if it’s any good but we’re just gonna move on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They nearly collide in the entryway of the building, Katya winded, both startled. Trixie stares at the sight in front of her. Katya’s limbs look even smaller than usual, black running shorts barely peeking out of the bottom of the bright, bright, bright yellow raincoat that engulfs her. “We, uh, thought I was gonna grow more than I did.” Trixie’s whole body reverberates with the force of her laughter at Katya’s hesitant, halfhearted explanation. Katya tries a glimmer of a smile in return. The sound of Trixie’s laughter flows over her, engulfing her in warmth. Trixie keeps her face in a smile as she catches her breath, studying Katya.  Her eyes look almost sunken in again. She looks so tired, so worn. Trixie quirks her head to the side as she checks her mail. <br/>“Movie night?”<br/>“What?” She shuts the PO box and turns to fully face Katya again.<br/>“It's 10 o’clock at night. You don't work today.  You're gonna come to my apartment and we're going to watch a movie and laugh.” Katya stares back at her, contemplative but exhausted.<br/>“Okay.” Trixie grins at her again and reaches out to squeeze her arm.<br/>“Go grab your glasses and some pajamas. You look like a drowned rat.” Katya tinges at the tips of her ears but Trixie just giggles. The smaller girl nods in agreement and starts up the stairs. Trixie tries not to watch as she pulls herself up. Without Katya's gaze on her, her face falls into concern. She pads softly back to her apartment, hurriedly making the place a little tidier. She wasn't expecting company tonight, though she's kind of looking forward to it. Trixie always looks forward to getting to spend time with Katya, and doesn't mind the times she reminds Katya to take care of herself, but it can make her sad at times. Just as she deems the apartment moderately acceptable, there's a light knock at the door. She throws the locks and opens the door to see Katya, bundled in a blanket, eyes tired but almost relieved to see Trixie.  There's a hand towel and a bag of frozen fruit clutched in her hand as Trixie steps back to let her in, motioning over to the couch she has her laptop set up in front of.  Trixie grabs the mugs of tea and bowl of popcorn from the counter, carefully keeping her face neutral, calm, amicable. They sit situated on opposite ends of the couch, Trixie’s legs easily crossed as she lounges back into the cushion, staring at Katya, who's curled so tightly into herself she might become part of the couch, save for one leg extended out of her cocoon, frozen fruit balanced as a makeshift ice pack. She murmurs a thank you as she lets the steam off the tea fog her glasses. Trixie nods in response, unsure how to proceed. The Princess Bride plays softly, neither of them paying much attention to it. They finish the tea and Trixie rises to put the mugs by the sink, Katya following suit as she quietly asks to use the freezer. They settle back onto the couch, Katya wincing almost imperceptibly as she draws her leg close to her again. <br/>“What happened?” Trixie's voice is soft, gentle, probing.  Katya shrugs, a hint of shame coloring her pale features. <br/>“I wasn't very nice to my body.” She lets out a deep sigh, avoiding Katya's gaze. “I really gotta get better about that.” Trixie just listens. Katya had been getting better, and then there was a change, and not quite radio silence from Katya,  but close to it. She knew enough about Katya to know pushing her to talk would only shut her out more, but couldn't help being concerned. She knows Katya will talk when she's ready. “Have you ever thought you were going to cut someone out of your life, and then you didn't, and you don't really know how to feel about all of it?” Trixie nods, encouraging Katya to continue as she tugs her leg from under the blanket, nimble fingers plying the sore muscles of Katya's calf.  “Because, we weren't--, we were--, we were never...healthy. But sometimes things were good, y'know? But I--” Katya cranes her head back to face the ceiling, blowing out a thin stream of breath as she struggles to find the words she's looking for, tension radiating through her upper body and down through her arms. Trixie makes her touch as gentle as she can, watching Katya’s drawn face pale even further. “I tried to tell her we were done. Not that we were ever even ‘a thing,’ just that like, she couldn't be in my life anymore. And she talked her way out of it. But my brain is still in the mindset of being done talking to her. And she--she's not any bad person. I don't want you to think that. But she...even when things are so one sided like this, between her, work, and my family they just...I have no life source left. I feel like a shell. And when I'm stressed I'm not hungry but I crave my runs. They keep me grounded. Sane, if you will. And I'm sorry I just…  disappeared for awhile. She invades my boundaries,  and I let her, and then I cling to all of the independence and space I have left, and the people I want want to get pushed to the side. So I'm sorry.” Trixie studies Katya,  who stares at her fingers entangling each other.  She reaches over to brush the hair back from her face and tilts Katya’s chin up, but her eyes remain cast down.<br/>“Hey.” Her voice comes impossibly soft, and her heart tugs when Katya’s eyes finally meet hers. The smaller girl looks so tired, fragile, right at the edge of the breaking point. There aren't any words to say right now. She pulls Katya over to her side of the couch, tucking her close to her chest, Katya's ear pressed up against Trixie’s heartbeat. Trixie wraps her arms around Katya, one hand combing softly through Katya's drying hair. “You're okay here. You're always okay here.” Time loses value as they sit there. It could've been fifteen minutes,  it could've been two hours before Trixie has slowly slouched to mostly laying on the couch, a now sleeping Katya still perched on top of her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey y'all. Sorry it's been a minute. Hope everyone is staying safe &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Let's go to the store today.” Trixie's carefully level suggestion is met with an equally level stare from Katya. Moments pass, neither dropping their gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Katya shrugs, her focus returning to the coffee in her hand and the news pulled up on her phone. Trixie fiddles a cup of tea in her hands while she studies the smaller blonde. The lines of her shoulders have gone taut again. Katya today is tense, curled in on herself, struggling not to lash out at Trixie, parts of her warring with how much to shut Trixie out. She can fool so many people, well educated, familiar people who spend their days with the intricacies of the psyche, and yet Trixie can see through her as clear as glass. She loathes it as much as she appreciates it. Trixie grabs a pad of paper from the counter, jotting down a list before tossing the pen and paper to Katya. She stares at it, and then back up at Trixie.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want me to do with this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Write. What do you want to eat this week?” Katya fixes her with a forceful stare before dropping her eyes to the paper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Apples. Coffee. Yogurt? Cheerios. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She fiddles the pen a while longer before setting down the list, unfolding herself from the couch to refill her mug of coffee. She hates the way Trixie's voice is tinged with sadness behind her. She wishes she could find any emotion to put on her face or in her voice, but today everything feels safer kept inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is my grocery list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am eating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Real people food. Meals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm not hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat anyways. It's good for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The idea of food makes me nauseous.” She turns to face Trixie again, the expression on her face enough to break through the dam of Katya's emotions. It feels as if all the tense manic energy falls away into bone deep exhaustion in a moment. Her voice is small without the edge from before. “I'm sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don't apologize. I just--I don't know how to help.” The smaller of the blondes curls back onto the corner of the couch, wishing she could snap out of things, wipe the sad expression off Trixie’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn't have to. I don't mean to. I'm just--” She sighs. Vulnerability is hard. “I'm so tired, and so sad, all the goddamn time. And I'm so worried about the future, about so many things. And all that in combination just, wrecks your appetite.” Blue eyes meet dark brown across the short couch, each individual feeling as though the other can see clear to their soul. “I'm trying to be okay. I really am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you are.” Trixie gently reaches across, taking Katya’s hand in her own without crowding her space. Katya in turn crawls across the couch, folding herself in tight angles on Trixie's lap, head buried in Trixie's shoulder. Trixie brings a soft hand up to cup the back of Katya's head, holding her as she shakes, not crying, just quivering with anxiety and self hatred. She wants to hold her tight, try to stop the trembling, but she doesn't want Katya to feel trapped, pressured, in anyway at all. So she gently lets her know she's there, that she's not going anywhere, and holds her until the shakes give into exhaustion.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys. Sorry it's been a while, and that it's a short one at that. Hope everyone's taking care &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Trixie almost misses the faint knock at her door a week or so after The Grocery Excursion. She throws the locks and opens the door and...pushes all excess thought, all spare emotion, far far away. Katya is standing in front of her, looking exhausted, terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kat, what's--" Her question dies in the air as Katya bites her lower lip to stop the tremble. When she speaks, her voice is small, catching in her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My heart won't stop pounding, even when I'm just laying down. And my heart is slow, even though I'm scared. I'm so tired, but I'm so scared I'll lay down and never get up." Trixie envelopes the smaller girl in her arms. She can feel the way her entire body seems to tremble, her hands gripping into Trixie's shirt with a sense of desperation. She taps Katya's back gently, wordlessly encouraging her to jump up into Trixie's arms. Strong thighs wrap around her waist as spindly arms tangle around her neck, shaky breaths hitting just behind her ear. Katya clings to her, letting herself just be held for a moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She's so light,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Trixie thinks to herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This should be harder than it is.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They move into the apartment, Trixie locking the door behind them. Once in the apartment, Trixie subconsciously begins to move back and forth with a slight sway, one hand underneath Katya while the other traces patterns across her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you work tonight?" Katya nods into Trixie's neck. "Did you eat tonight?" This time there's hesitation, followed by a small shrug. "Can you tell me what?" Trixie feels as Katya grinds her face further into Trixie, hands clenching the back of her shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um...coffee, some popcorn, and an apple, and some of that peach tea stuff?" Shame tints Katya's voice, coming out small and thick with tears. Fear clogs her throat that she's been too mean to her body for too long this time. To her credit, Trixie doesn't respond immediately, and if she's disappointed in Katya she doesn't show it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The artificial stuff?" Katya nods again, shrugging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It makes an entire half gallon. It's convenient." She misses the feeling of Trixie's hand dancing across her back as she bends her knees slightly to pick up her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You drank all of it?" A nod. "In one shift?" Another nod. Trixie can feel as Katya begins to tremble against her again and almost misses the small whisper into her thick blond hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't think I want to die." Her heart tugs and she swallows thick against the emotion rising in her throat. Finally, something on her little screen makes sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Baby, you're not gonna die." It slips out without Trixie's permission. She barrels on in the hope that if she doesn't acknowledge it, maybe Katya won't notice. She taps her back and Katya leans her head up to look at where Trixie is holding her phone. "Too much aspartame, not enough food. It should settle down in a few hours." Katya buries her head back into Trixie's neck and she feels tears begin to wet her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry." Trixie locks her phone and tucks it back in her pocket, her hand returning to the soothing patterns on Katya's back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't need to apologize--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's stupid."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not like you knew that was even a possibility. You're alright. It's gonna be okay." She sits down on the couch and pulls out her phone again, Katya still perched on her lap with her legs wrapped around her. The smaller girl seems exhausted, stuck in her head even more than usual today. "The internet says a hot shower can lower your blood pressure and raise your pulse. Do you want to give it a try?" She can feel Katya hesitate against her. "I'll sit in there with you in case anything goes wrong, if you want." Katya nods, unraveling her limbs from around Trixie. Her eyes are bleary when she stands up, legs unsteady. Trixie stands and holds onto Katya's hands until she stops swaying, gently guiding her into the bathroom. "You go ahead and get in and when I hear the shower curtain pull, I'll come in, okay?" Katya nods, staring at the ground. Her toes play with each other for a moment as she stands outside the bathroom, shame and guilt washing over her at Trixie's unending kindness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you." Before Trixie can respond, she slips into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. She's careful as she takes off her clothes, folding them neatly to put on the back of the toilet, glasses perched on top. She lets the water run for a moment to warm up before she steps in, noisily pulling the curtain shut. The doorknob clicks as Trixie enters, the latch almost deafening as the door shuts, the bathroom silent except for the steady stream of water Katya stands underneath. She lets it spill over her aching chest, tilting her head back to take deep breaths out of the stream of water. Out of the near silence, there's a gentle noise. Katya squeezes her eyes shut as the quiet pick of a guitar. The soft picked accompaniment to landslide fills the small bathroom, Trixie's gentle hum joining after a while. By some miracle, it begins to work. The slow, heavy thumping of Katya's heart begins to ease back into something a little closer to normal. The fear begins to fade and with it the adrenaline keeping her awake. She turns off the water and a moment later Trixie gently hangs a couple towels over the shower rod. Katya quietly thanks her, wrapping her hair in one and the other around her body. Trixie tries not to stare as she steps out of the shower, her face even more gaunt than usual, collarbones standing out, unhidden by the layers she normally wears. Katya doesn't notice, her gaze fixed on the ground. Her toes play with each other again until Trixie's gentle voice breaks the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go ahead and get dressed. I'll grab the blanket and you can sleep on the couch for a while. I'll be right there, in my chair." Katya nods, rapidly blinking the tears from her eyes. She feels silly when she looks at her clothes, realizing she'd shown up at Trixie's door in a panic, wearing boxers and a hoodie. She tugs them back on and shakes out her hair, standing in front of the mirror, staring down the dark shadows beneath her eyes. By the time she's back in the living room of the one bedroom apartment, there's a blanket spread over the couch and Trixie is lounged in her chair with her nose in a book. A woman stands on the cover, hand propped on her jean clad hip, an ID badge hanging off where her scub top is tucked into them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Weekends at Bellevue</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it reads. Katya gentle clears her throat, unsure how her voice is going to come out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's a good one. Weekends at Bellevue first sparked my desire to work in a psych ER." Trixie looks up from the memoir but Katya's gaze has already returned to the floor, her feet, the couch, the wall...anywhere but on Trixie. Trixie doesn't say she knows. She doesn't say she saw it on Katya's bookshelf and picked it up at the library to try and better understand her. Instead she nods in agreement, commenting on her appreciation of the writing style. Katya nods in response, and they sit in silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Trix?" Not long after Trixie's returned to the book does Katya's soft voice break the silence. She hums in acknowledgement and looks up to see Katya playing with the blanket in her fingers, her gaze somewhere by Trixie's feet. "I'm--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you're going to apologize, don't. There's no reason to." Katya's eyes shoot up for a moment before dropping to her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you...for everything." Trixie waits a beat, thinking over her words as Katya burrows into the blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you for reaching out."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey lovelies. Sorry it's been forever. What a wild ride this year has been. Hope everyone's doing well. Much love &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her legs trudge down the snow covered street, one after the other, again and again like a wind up toy until she reaches her destination. She considers stopping to breathe, to take a break, but that would be even longer out in the cold, inadequately dressed, even longer until the warmth of her bed, the small solace of her room. If she gets home soon, she can shower and make breakfast before anyone else is awake, in that window of time she cherishes. She tries so hard not to regret moving, and most of the time she doesn't. She loves it here, in the crisp air of Boston, with the freedom of the city and the endless possibilities. But there are times she thinks about the little apartment she came from, huge by Boston's standards, and she thinks about the space she created for herself, and the morning routine she had, and the way the place felt like a home. All of that is gone here. She returns home after the sun rises, too late to run. She takes her solace in one room of a six bedroom house, taking up less and less space every time she turns around. She fights it sometimes, in her mind, tells herself she deserves to take up space. But at the end of the day she takes time to make food in the morning, when she gets home from work and the rest of the house is still asleep. In the evening she scampers down for the first half of a pot of coffee and whatever she can grab to take back to her room and scarf down before running to catch the bus to work. In the time in between she tries to sleep, a difficult feat in a house full of day shifters. Though she tried to shove the knowledge to the back of her mind, Katya knows, <em>oh god she knows</em>, that this house does nothing but enable her behaviors, gives her excuses for disregarding her body. She sends it an apology sometimes, when things get real bad, and she gets scared again, and she swears she'll try to do better, try to be kinder to it, but then there's work work work and she can't bear to face any of the people she lives with. She doesn't talk to them. She doesn't interact with them. She avoids them like the plague. Because no interaction is better than negative interaction, right? And the fall was full of slamming doors and throwing dishes and raised voices and passive violence but Katya always swore she'd make it in the big city and so she pretends it doesn't bother her.</p><p> </p><p>(It's four months later and it still haunts the way she moves throughout the house.)</p><p> </p><p>She prays, if anyone is listening, that she didn't blow this apartment, with her stupid big mouth and the backbone she hasn't fully figured out how to use yet. She interacts with people outside of a psych setting so infrequently for such a limited amount of time that she kind of forgets how it's supposed to go. And so when she feels jerked back and forth, she puts her foot down. Now she wonders if she put it down too hard. She'll find out tomorrow. Tonight at work she listened to the voicemail in the bathroom, hoping for an answer, instead just getting a message to call him back when she gets a chance. She doesn't figure he'd appreciate a call after midnight, when she finally gets home from her second shift of the day. Not a double, no, she'd prefer that. Seven and a half hours in between shifts comprised of an hour bus ride either way, finding something to eat for breakfast that doesn't sound totally objectionable, forty five minutes of sleep, and the remaining almost four hours comprising of regulating her breathing to try and convince her brain that her heart is fine, she's still going to wake up and go to work, she won't be taken out that easy. </p><p> </p><p>She doesn't want to die.</p><p> </p><p>But she doesn't want to live like this any longer either. </p><p> </p><p>Sleeplessness paints shadows underneath her dulling eyes and carves a hollowness inside her that she struggles to find a desire to fill. She thought she was hiding it well enough. Work is the one place she feels truly alive. Her coworkers are getting more insistent that she <em>eat something</em> when they offer. Her tired legs climb the stairs to her room, the silence of the rest of the house sleeping her seldom solace. She forces food down her throat, just enough to keep going, and crawls into bed as she allows her mind to float. </p><p> </p><p>She drifts off to sleep with honey blonde curls and warm chocolate eyes haunting her memory.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This isn't quite cohesive with the recent parts of the fic, kinda jumps back to the feel of the early chapters. Let me know what you think. Much love to you all &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>